


Stranger in a Strange Town

by PyrophobicDragon



Category: Dragalia Lost (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider, check the beginning note, or at least chapter 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 19:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyrophobicDragon/pseuds/PyrophobicDragon
Summary: Heinwald finds himself somewhere new. He makes a friend.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really know what to make of this fic, honestly. The first half is about Heinwald making a friend, and the romance part doesn't come in until the later half.
> 
> Warnings for: oblique mentions of rape and subsequent abortion, discussions of homophobia.

He hated camping. He missed his home, his bed, and his books. As dark as those halls had been, it was home. It had his lab, it had his library, it had his best friend.

Likely no longer. His partner had a wanderer’s heart. And he’d always been uncomfortable with the casual luxury of the place. Another sign that they were no proper match, despite how he had made him feel.

He wandered listlessly for a few weeks, with no goal in mind but to establish some distance between himself and the temptation to go back. He was not a man who could live without aim, however, so within a week he was already considering his future plans. He could cross the border, explore new lands and customs, but it was hard to justify his continued search for knowledge when most of his external memory was out of reach. He had brought some of his notebooks, and most of the information was in his brain, but he had left many of his projects and his favored books and that was simply demoralizing.

In the end, he didn’t even make it to the border. He found a tiny town on the edge of an old, ancient forest, whose denizens had long been driven away from their bygone days of hunting and gathering resources from the forest by fiends. Now, they settle for eking out a living from the hard soil. He had planned to only pass by, but as always, his curiosity was piqued by the forest and he was powerless to stop it. He moved into an old hunter’s lodge in the forest, then he announced his proficiency with the healing arts via a notice posted to the town’s announcement board. Within days, he had his first client, a farmer looking to cure his persistent cough. Utterly mundane. But earned him a few coins and a presence in the town. 

The children who lived here made fun of his appearance. Their cruelty did not settle on verbal attacks, and they threw rocks at him and hit him with sticks, pretending he was a fiend. None of the adults made any attempts to dissuade them. His first client had not been shy about spreading gossip about the stranger to everyone else in town and they were too busy muttering about him behind their hands to discipline their children. He ignored them all. Old habits of avoidance came flooding back and he spent most of his time in his hovel.

Of all the hundred, two hundred people in the town, he made exactly one friend. She was twenty or something like that. Lacy. It was a nickname, but Heinwald never cared to ask about her full name.

She had come to his hut in the middle of the night some two months into his existence. He had been awake, of course, sitting on his one chair when she came in.

She hesitated in the doorway. Everyone did, when they first saw the state of his hut. Unlike the others, she stayed there and boldly said, 

“They say you’re a witch. They say that you come from a big city and you were driven out for practicing dark arts that go against the Goddess. They say that you’re a monster and you kill and eat fiends for fun.”

“Yet they come to me with their snotty children and give me money to buy their bread,” he replied.

For some reason she smiled. She entered the cottage so he stood up and gestured her to the chair, taking a seat on the bed. She moved over but did not sit down.

She was silent for a long while. So he decided to speak first.

“You are agitated,” he observed. “You have sought me out in the middle of the night despite the rumors flying about me. You are a young unattached woman who lives in a rural town with a population of no more than a few hundred. And when you were describing my apparent qualities, the second one you thought of was the rumor that I came from a bigger city among all the more colorful ones.” He paused, watching her lower her head. “I believe I know what you are here for.”

“They also said you could read minds,” she whispered. “I was hoping you would. Because I’m too much of a coward to say it out loud.”

“You have already shown your bravery walking through this forest in the middle of the night to seek out help,” he told her dispassionately. Her face contorts a little as she confronts that reality. He abruptly changed the subject. “Who else knows?”

“My best friend. And...while I haven’t told them, I think my parents know, because they look disappointed when they look at me,” she said.

“And it goes without saying that they would be even more disapproving if they learned of your plan.”

She nodded. Then her face twisted up. “Yeah. But it’s not my fucking fault! And I know he won’t even...nothing will even happen to him.” Angry tears started leaking out of her eyes.

Oh dear. He’s reminded yet again that people were never his forte. Overcome by awkwardness, he stood up and walked over to his stove. He stoked the fire and filled his kettle with water. As the woman attempted to compose himself, he went through the motions of adding a pinch of this, a dash of that….

Within half an hour his kettle of water had boiled down to a sludgy tonic. Its surface shimmered, imbued with his own personal brand of dark magic. He turned around and noticed that she had finally sat down on the chair. He poured one of his mugs full of the tonic and brought it over to her.

“Drink. You will experience symptoms that appear similar to a particularly painful menstruation. If you would like a return to the status quo, ask your parents to bring you to me and I will inform them that all of your symptoms were due to abnormal menstruation, likely as a result of malnutrition or stress.”

Her eyes widened. She gulped down the tonic with no complaints towards the unpleasant taste and returned the mug. Then she opened up the bag hanging from her waist and pulled out a handful of dull coins then hesitated. “How...much?”

“Family health planning is covered by insurance at this clinic,” he told her.

“Um...what?” He knew this expression. Confusion.

He sighed internally. “Never mind. It was a joke.” He would have gotten it. And laughed.

For some reason, that seemed to confuse and shock her even more. And then she laughed nervously as she closed the bag. “You’re...kinda weird. But nice.”

“Other people have told me so, yes. That I’m unusual. Not that I’m nice.” Has anyone ever called him nice? Perhaps his sister, once upon a time. Did he ever? All he could remember was him calling him an ass and variations thereof.

“Well...you are. Nice. And weird.” She made a face to herself as if berating herself for saying that out loud, but that was familiar to him. “I’ll be going now.”

“Scream if you get attacked by fiends,” he said absently.

She was nearly to the door when he remembered something. 

“Pardon me.”

She paused and turned to look at him. He set down the mug on the corner of his stove and looked right at her. “I have killed many monsters since coming here,” he said blandly. “Please do inform me if you find another nearby. You need only to tell me its location, and I will hunt it down and...eradicate it.”

Several complicated looks crossed her face. But she didn’t leave the hut. He waited patiently until she finally said slowly, “...You should...maybe you should stop by the pub sometimes. The sheriff drinks there often.”

“I see. Goodbye.”

“Oh. Goodbye.”

And then she left.

Heinwald began to scrub the tonic out of his pot and mug. It was very sticky.

***

Two days later, he gravely informed a frowning mother that sometimes menstruation could be impacted by general health factors such a diet or mental factors such as stress. The mother went away looking relieved, and Lacy exited behind her mother after giving Heinwald a smile and a mouthed word of appreciation.

Two days after that, he went into town. He bought some bread, some paper, some more herbs and spices from their lackluster collection. Then he took his bag of groceries and walked into the pub.

All conversation stopped when he walked in. He sat at the bar two seats down from a middle-aged man and ordered wine. It was sour and watered down and served in the same beer mug that all other drinks were served in, but he still sipped it as he opened his book. 

After a while, the conversation in the pub started up again, though much quieter than before. A bit of eavesdropping and a few tactical glances informed him that the sheriff had a deceased ex-wife and a grown child who had moved away and had never spoken to him again. Once he had gathered all he needed to know, he closed his book and stood up.

As he left the bar, he let a tiny bit of his mana sneak out and latch onto the sheriff’s.

He patiently waited two weeks. Every once in a while, he went to the bar and drank shitty wine and read his book and pulled on that thread a little bit more.

Finally, the sheriff appeared at his doorstep.

Cirrhosis of the liver, he told him. As a result of drinking too heavily. If it was caused naturally, there was nothing any magic could do for him. Most people could live two to six months at this stage, but an earlier death could occur. Get your affairs in order. Ask the Kingdom to send a new sheriff. Take this tonic to deal with the symptoms.

Of course, any healer worth their salt would be able to see the truth in a heartbeat. But the nearest healer was two weeks by horse away. And this man wouldn’t live that long.


	2. Chapter 2

Sheriff MacKerry died about a month after she visited the wi--Mr. Heinwald, he had been so kind to her, she should really stop calling him a witch like all the other townsfolk did. When she heard the news, she told her mom and her dad that she was going to go visit Juney, packed a bottle of their homemade wine into a basket with some fresh cheese and bread, and walked into the woods.

After Mr. Heinwald had moved in, there had been much less fiends skulking around. With the light dappling through the leaves, the formidable forest was almost friendly. She thought maybe that wasn’t a coincidence.

The door was propped open. She stopped to watch the steam drift lazily out of the door, remembering that dark night, watching Mr. Heinwald stir the pot, feeling distant amusement at his little tin cooking pot instead of the giant iron cauldron she had been half-expecting. She had been so scared, but her fear of the future had outweighed her fear of the stranger.

She entered his cottage for the second time.

Mr. Heinwald was writing in a notebook when she came in. He looked up at her and said nothing.

She held out the basket. An offering. “I brought some...stuff. There’s wine in there. I hear that’s what you drink when you go to the pub.” She paused. “You know that he gives you the bad stuff on purpose, right?”

“There’s no use in offering better-quality drink to one who does not appreciate it,” Mr. Heinwald replied. He stood up and took the basket from her, peeling back the handkerchief she had carefully laid on top. “I did not go to the pub for drinks. Just for the company.”

...Oh. 

“The sheriff’s dead,” she said next. Not really sure why. He probably knows.

“Mmm. Cirrhosis. Terrible way to die, perfectly preventable. Liver failure came earlier for him than most.” Was it just her imagination, or did he have a distinctly self-satisfied air about him?

“Would you like some lunch?” he offered. “I’m afraid I’m not particularly picky when it comes to foodstuffs, and this is too nice to be wasted on someone like me.”

Mr. Heinwald was the direct opposite of the sheriff. He never really looked at her. He was always looking somewhere else, except for when he read her mind. While his clothes added bulk, when he rolled up his sleeves to wash out his cooking pot, his wrists were thin enough that she could easily break them with one hand. And despite his reputation, she felt safe here. And she knows that if she declined, he would let her walk out of here no problem.

She nodded.

He made vegetable soup. It was really bad. He barely seasoned it, used water instead of stock, dumped all of his vegetables haphazardly cut up in all at once.

She still ate it. Beggars can’t be choosers. But she made sure to tell him so.

Mr. Heinwald finally looked up from where he was staring into the depths of his bowl. His bright red eyes, which seemed to glow menacingly when she entered that night, instead sparkled like her mother’s ruby ring in the sunlight. “I am intellectually aware of how to cook. I do dabble in alchemy, after all, which operates on the same principles. It’s simply that I’ve had proper meals prepared for me by professional chefs, yet to me eating fruit jelly tastes exactly the same as this meal. So I never bother.”

Fruit jelly? Does that mean he was rich at one point? From the way he casually dropped this information, she couldn’t help but feel that it was a test. Or perhaps a fish hook.

She ate a piece of cheese. “Do you kill the fiends?”

He nodded.

She chewed. “How?”

He cocked his head at her. “Hm?”

“You barely look strong enough to carry a pot. How are you strong enough to carry a sword?” Was that insulting? It sounded more insulting out loud than she intended. But he only inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“Steel and iron are not the only ways to cause deadly trauma.” He ate a piece of carrot.

“Is that how you killed the sheriff?” she blurted out.

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you really want to know?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It was a genuine question. She pondered it for a moment. Then she changed the subject yet again. She knew she was flying all over the place, but she had so many questions to ask and he...didn’t seem to care. “Why did you kill him on my word alone? I could have been lying.”

“I would have known if you had.” Matter-of-fact.

“...Can you actually read minds?” Of all the rumors that she had heard, she believed in that one. He had known everything just by looking at her.

He made a face. It was...weirdly funny. “No, I do not read minds. Just make accurate deductions.”

She stared at him, shitty soup dripping out of her spoon. “What are you?” That wasn’t what she meant to say. But it seemed more accurate to what she was wondering.

He laughed. It wasn’t a nice laugh. “Just a man. Like anyone else.”

For some reason, that felt like a lie.

***

She started visiting Mr. Heinwald more frequently. He was exactly like she thought he was that first night: weird, but weirdly nice. And different. She was so tired of this stupid town, and he was strange and new and not judgemental. She wasn’t really sure if he liked her back or not. But he tolerated her in his space, and he answered all her endless questions.

He used to be an investigator. He was hard of hearing in one ear. He had his purple skin as long as he could remember, but the stitches came later. Poor eyesight ran in his family.

“Spiritual healing magic, the typical healing magic most healers use, never took kindly to me,” he told her one day. “I know how to do it, but I get much better results from a subset of healing called vampiric healing, which is the manipulation of life force from one organism to another.”

He tried to teach her when she asked, but both of them quickly gave up. He had a very unique grip on his sort of magic that was hard for him to convey and harder for her to learn. She did much better with the alchemy, but her potions didn’t have as much oomph to them as Mr. Heinwald’s did.

Sometimes he said weird things, things so strange that she really couldn’t tell if he was joking or lying. Sometimes he laughed afterwards. Most of the time he didn’t.

Like the fact that he dissected fiends. That he once heard of a cursed jewel that was said to kill its owners, but it turned out it was a serial killer who had a tracking charm on the jewel and would break into the home it was in with a knife. Or that he was once branded as a heretic, but a kind inquisitor had judged him and decided that he hadn’t committed an arrestable offense yet.

Actually, she heard a lot about this inquisitor. And finally she had asked

“At first, I believed that he would arrest me. He seemed to be the typical inquisitor. Rather rough-and-tumble, with more muscles than sense. But he turned out to be both intelligent and rather kind. At first, our partnership was a bit grudging, based on him, quote, ‘keeping an eye on me,’ but he was a willing investigator and had an observational eye that caught every detail and a memory that relayed details back to me with excellent accuracy, and soon are partnership became more affectionate.”

Once he had told her that bare-bones story of how they met, it was like the floodgates have opened. And suddenly, she started noticing the presence of this inquisitor in all of his stories.

“My partner told me that he had heard a citizen talking about dogs barking at around two in the morning that night….”

“And with that, we went off to the man’s house. Of course, he tried to run, but my partner caught up to him quickly and subdued him rather handily. He was begging for mercy within moments.”

“My investigations ran much more smoothly with a strong, capable partner. As did the rest of my life--he did a good job of ensuring that I had proper amounts of nutrition and sleep.”

Telling those stories were the only times she ever saw his eyes go bright. Whenever he mentioned his partner in crime solving, his eyes lit up with maniacal glee. It made her wonder how a man who so loved what he did and who he did it with could have ended up in this bitter two-bit town, all alone.

She also told him about herself. That she only had one friend her age, Juney, who was pretty and sweet. That she hated living here, with her parents who argued all the time and nothing to do but pick potatoes and a priest who screamed at them that they were all going to hell every Sunday. She told him that she wanted to take Juney and move into the city and do something besides milk cows and sow seeds, because Juney was the best artist she’d ever seen and she could do great things if she had the chance. He was a surprisingly good listener.

Of course, not all things with Mr. Heinwald was fun and games. 

He never drank in front of her, but the wine bottle she brought on that second trip was completely depleted by the next time she visited, the deep red wine inside replaced with a different sort of liquid and perched on a shelf. She had been surprised at that. He was fairly skinny and barely taller than she was, and it was a lot of wine for one person, but at the time she had decided they were not close enough to discuss his drinking habits.

But one day, she had gone to visit Mr. Heinwald again. Juney was still her best friend but she’d been...well. She had her reasons for wanting to avoid her lately. So, without any other friends in town, her only other option was to talk to Mr. Heinwald. It was late afternoon and she barged into the cottage as she always did. Mr. Heinwald seemed to be able to tell when she was on her way, so after a while they stopped with the knocking and the pleasantries and started going straight into whatever activity or discussion they were doing that day.

When she entered, he was slumped over in his chair by the stove. He actually started when she came in. “Curran?” he mumbled, then he shook his unbound hair out of his eyes and looked up at her.

“Ah. Lacy. Not today, I’m afraid, I’m in a mood.”

She stared at him. In contrast to his usual uptight outfit, he looked quite battered. His loose hair, he had lost his robe, which revealed that he had no cravat and his shirt was partway unbuttoned, and he had his socked feet propped up on the stove. But what truly shocked her was how she managed to catch him by surprise. And instead of looking past her as he normally did, he looked her straight in the eye, which let her see how unfocused and dull his eyes were.

“Are you okay?” she cried.

He cringed a little bit and dropped his gaze, running a hand through his hair. It got stuck on a knot, and he tugged it until the knot came out. “I am...functional. Functioning.”

She’s not really sure what clued her in. He didn’t look or smell like any of the farmers coming home from the pub late at night. Maybe it was because she couldn’t think of any other diagnosis for his symptoms?

“Mr. Heinwald...are you drunk?!”

“Hm?” He seemed...distracted. “Hm. I don’t think so. Perhaps I had a bit to drink. If I get distracted, I tend to lose track of what my body is doing.” And if it were late at night, maybe it would have been believable. But...

“Mr. Heinwald...it’s eleven in the morning. Why on earth were you drinking at eleven in the morning?”

He blinked owlishly at her for a long time, and she knew she caught him lying. Then he ran his hand through his hair again and sighed. “...Do I really look so bad?” he asked abruptly.

“Maybe not to a normal person. But..I think I know you better than most,” she answered truthfully.

For some reason, he looked devastated.

In a wild, panicky moment, she thinks he’s about to cry. But instead he sighed again, then leaned forward and picked up an object from the stove. She realized it was a mirror when he held it up to his face, using his free hand to sweep the bangs that normally hid the right side of his face out of the way. He tilted this way and that, examining his purple skin. “Hn. I am rather drunk. Perhaps you should leave.”

“Not until you tell me what the hell’s wrong with you,” she insisted.

He set his mirror down on the stove and covered his eyes with his hands. His shoulders began to shake.

He stayed like that for a while. Finally, he mumbled into his hands. “Hah. You sound exactly like Curran. What a mystery...that someone like me keeps attracting people like you.”

Lacy stared at him, feeling her resolve to stay and figure out why he was like this dying. This was far too much to unpack right now when he was piss-drunk and avoiding all her questions. So she instead went over to the water bucket and poured him a cup of water. She forcefully pulls one hand from his face and pushed the cup into it. “Drink this and go to bed,” she ordered.

“Perhaps that will be best,” he mumbled.

She stayed long enough to supervise him drinking the water, and then left him lying on his bed, facing the wall. His shoulders were still shaking when she left the cottage. And she was still unsure if he was laughing or crying.

***

The first thing she asked when she entered his house the next day was, “Are you hungover?”

Heinwald made a strange noise. “It is a waste of breath and time to ask questions you already know the answer to.” He looked like hell. But he also looked a hell of a lot more lucid than he did yesterday, even as he pushed up his glasses to rub his eyes while simultaneously trying to take a drink of water, which of course resulted in him spilling it all over himself, making him let out a quiet curse.

Lacy made no attempt to help. “It’s a simple yes or no question.” He made another disgruntled noise and she sighed. “Who’s Curran?”

He jerked in his seat, eyes widening with alarm. Then he relaxed. “Ah. Yes. I remember that.”

“He’s the inquisitor, right?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she continued, “I’m right, right?”

“Yes, you are indeed correct. That was the name of my partner,” he answered quietly.

Was? Was. It’s not like he was here in this town right now, after all.

“What happened to him?” she asked when no other answer seemed forthcoming. It was as if he was waiting for her next question.

Heinwald grimaced. “I...we parted ways.”

“Does it have to do with your decision to come live here?”

He stood up and put the kettle on. He was fidgeting a little as he puttered around the kitchen, getting cups, spoons, tea, honey, milk. Without facing her, he finally answered, “...Well. It was the catalyst for my journey here. But I chose this place in particular because of the forest.”

Lacy narrowed her eyes at his back. “What did he do to cause you to leave?”

His back straightened. “ _ He _ did nothing,” he downright snapped. But then he said, in a much softer tone, “I...I did a bad thing.”

A strangely childish statement from someone as cultured as he was. She wondered what he could have done that caused him, the most unflappable man she’s ever met, to flee. Then she realized she didn’t have to wonder. “What did you do?”

“I fell in love.”

How mundane. Yet understandable. Like one of those penny romance novels Juney bought when a wandering trader came into town. She could guess what came next: they fell in love with some woman, she chose his best friend over him, his friend wasn’t happy with the idea that they were both gunning for the same girl, they parted ways. “And she rejected you.”

“I had no plans to tell him. He deduced it for himself,” Heinwald replied in the smallest voice she had ever heard from him. He remained facing away from her. 

Oh.

Suddenly everything clicked into place. And her entire perspective on the tales he told her changed. 

She could tell that he was waiting for her to say something, to react, but she said nothing. There was nothing she wanted to say. 

After a moment, his head lowered again and he said, still in that same soft voice, “And I didn’t stick around long enough for him to kill me for it.”

Her mouth dropped open. “He would have killed you?!” 

He shrugged. But it was more to have an action to do than a real response to her question. “I suspect so. He was an inquisitor, after all, and heavily religious to go along with it, and I was already on thin ice for my eccentric behavior. He never displayed outwards signs of homophobia, but tolerance of homosexuals oftentimes is strained when one of them is in love with you.”

“Religious doesn’t mean intolerant,” Lacy felt compelled to point out, despite all the evidence to the contrary she witnessed every day in her little town.

“I know.” His shoulders dropped. “He showed me that several times. But...he had such an expression on his face when he figured it out. So I ran.” He finally turned around and handed her a mug of tea. She took a long gulp, trying to think of something to say. When she lowered the mug again, Heinwald had a slightly strained expression on his face. And he said, haltingly,

“I...ahem. I do not want to give you the impression that all...homosexual love stories are doomed to disaster. Many of them do end successfully. It is simply...it was simply my mistake that I fell in love with my only friend. Not that loving your friends will also end poorly!”

Lacy stared at him as he babbled. Then she realized he was attempting to  _ reassure _ her.

Of-fucking-course he knew about Juney.

He kept on talking. “You’re young, and not like me. I’m quite abnormal. And if it doesn’t work out, you will have many more chances to find a woman to love.”

She frowned at him. “Aren’t you only, like, mid-twenties? You’re young too.”

“I have not felt any attraction to anyone in all my life. If it continues on at this rate, the next time I feel romantic attraction will be when I’m in my forties.” His eyes went distant and he smiled bitterly. Then he snapped out of it. “Anyways, that doesn’t matter. I believe that you should tell your friend about your regard for her,” he said briskly.

Lacy’s face was turning red. “I...that was sudden.”

Heinwald shrugged again and took a sip of his tea. “I only recently realized the similarities in our...circumstances. And, upon consideration, I believe that being honest with your friend will result in a better outcome than trying to hide it like I did.” He now had such an expectant look on his face that it made her shift awkwardly in her seat.

“...I’ll think about it.” She had been thinking about it. A lot. At the very least, she wanted to apologize to Juney for avoiding her recently.

“Don’t think about it. Just go do it,” Heinwald advised her. “And if it turns out poorly...well. You did mention that you wanted to move to a city. You can run away like I did.” He smiled, with a hint of irony.

“...Would you come with me?” She didn’t know what compelled her to ask. But she had a feeling she already knew the answer.

“I am grateful for your company in what is quite a difficult period in my life.” he said, with that startling honesty he always had. “In return, I will do my best to support whatever endeavors you have planned for the near future. I can help you with funding, if you’d like to travel alone, or I could travel you, if you desire company.” He set down his tea. “The only benefit this place has for me is that it is somewhere that Curran is not.”

Would it be too awkward to give him a hug? Probably. She decided against it. But she said, “Thank you.”

And headed for the door.

***

The streets were deserted today. 

That always meant one of two things: either there was a fiend attack incoming, which was unlikely ever since Heinwald rolled into town, or a stranger had arrived. Everyone was probably either waiting at the pub to spy or gossip, or hiding in their homes peeking out their windows. 

She hoped that this stranger had made their way through already. She had to go all the way across town to reach Juney’s house, and she didn’t want to field any questions about  _ where the fuck is everyone is this a damn ghost town? _

When she got off the forest path onto Main Street, she spotted a person in the distance, looking at the notice board. She hesitated for a split second, wondering if it was better to sneak around through the woods, but then the person’s head turned towards her. He didn’t make any moves towards her, just stood there and looked. And he would definitely notice if she suddenly backed away.

She swallowed her fear. Told herself that if she screamed, Heinwald would come running. And started boldly walking down the street.

As she got closer, the figure solidified itself as a man. One hand in his pocket, the other holding a cloak or overcoat slung over one shoulder. He had an axe hanging from his belt. Blond hair swept back from his face. A nasty-looking x-shaped scar over one eye. He looked terrifying. She was starting to question her own decision to walk this way.

As soon as she gets within talking distance, he called out to her, making her stop short in her tracks. “‘Scuse me. I’m searching for someone. Black-and-white hair, though he may have dyed it. Glasses, a gold...dome over his left ear, possibly working as a healer or a detective.” His eyes searched her face and she frantically tried to school her expression into a mockery of Heinwald’s bored mask. She must have not been fast enough, because he paused, then turned his body away from the notice board towards her. And he said, much quieter, “Red eyes. Patches of purple skin on his face and body. Scarred.”

Lacy swallowed. “What’s your name...Inquisitor?”

***

Lacy had left his house some time ago. He was sweeping his floor, thinking about her and her friend. He hoped that it would work out for her better than it had for him.

Suddenly, his door opened again. Lacy stood there. And she looked...worried.

“Heinwald, there’s a man looking for someone with black-and-white hair and a partially-discolored face.”

Heinwald stared at her. “P-pardon?”

Lacy patiently repeated herself. 

“Wh…” He had to swallow and lick his suddenly dry lips. “What did this man look like?”

“He’s handsome,” she said, “with blond hair and a scarred face.”

Heinwald leaned on his broom and chuckled, even though he felt like he was on the verge of some sort of physical reaction. He wasn’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready at all. “That is a fairly apt way to describe him.”

“Heinwald, if he is here…then maybe he just wants to talk to you.” Lacy’s expression was unreadable. 

“No, no. He cannot be.” Heinwald ran a hand through his hair. “What could he possibly want from me?”

Lacy was quiet for a moment. Then she said, “Heinwald, I’m really sorry. But this is for your own good.”

Heinwald couldn’t believe he didn’t see this coming from a mile away. He sighed heavily. “It’s...well. I forgive you, Lacy.”

And stepping out into view of the still-open door was Curran. There he was, in the flesh, some twenty meters away, closer to the edge of the treeline than the door.

Heinwald shut his eyes and pulled out his ponytail. He ran his hand down the length of his hair, then retied it up tighter. "Well. I might as well find out what he's here for. Bring him in, Lacy, and if he kills me for being a homosexual you can have my things."

"I wouldn't have brought him here if I thought he would kill you," Lacy muttered. She exited the cottage.

Through the door, Heinwald watched as Lacy spoke to Curran. He could hear their quiet conversation on the wind, but he cannot register any words over the rushing in his ears.

In lieu of anything to do, he sat down on his bed and leaned the broom against the wall. No place to run, here. He cursed his foolishness. Curran was an extremely competent Inquisitor, and he himself couldn’t exactly blend in with a crowd. If he wanted to find him he will.

He could feel a vague sense of...dread? Anticipation? as Lacy and Curran start making their way towards him. Lacy stepped inside first, followed by Curran. The space felt so much smaller with three people, though it might have been because Curran was a bit taller than either of them were and his hair was nearly brushing the ceiling. Or perhaps it was because they were finally in close quarters again after so long.

Heinwald reached into the depths of his pocket. He pulled out a few rupees and tossed them to Lacy. “Go buy some bread or something.”

“It’s, like, seven. All the stores are closed.”

“Go buy some bread tomorrow, then.”

Lacy rolled her eyes. “I can catch a hint. I’ll get out of your hair.” But as she left, she shot Curran a hard look.

And then she was gone. Leaving him and Curran alone for the first time in...almost a year.

He stared at Curran. Curran stared at him. 

He gestured over to the chair. “You can...take a seat if you’d like.”

Curran nodded jerkily. He sat down. 

Then he nearly gave Heinwald a heart attack when he jumped up again and narrowed his eyes. “You...you’re the stupidest man I’ve ever met.”

Heinwald stared at him, shrinking back against the wall. Eyes alight with fury, Curran snarled, “How could you...how could you even think that I would--Heinwald, you’re my best fucking friend,  _ the _ best friend that I’ve ever had. We’re partners. And there is  _ nothing _ you can do that’ll change that.”

Heinwald dropped his gaze to the floor. “I...I apologize.” His throat felt like it was closing up. He wasn’t really sure what he was apologizing for. This didn’t make sense.

“And you know what else?” Curran continued, as if he hadn’t spoken, “Aren’t you always telling me not to jump to conclusions? Well, you’re a damn hypocrite after running off like that. Because guess what? I fucking love you too!”

Heinwald looked up at him again with wide eyes. “Curran...”

“Good fucking Goddess, Hein, I’ve been looking for you for the past fucking year, you’re way too good at hiding.” Curran ran a hand through his hair. “And I still cannot believe you thought I would  _ kill my best friend _ for  _ any reason at all. _ ”

“Curran--”

“Oh, wait, shit, are you gonna tell me you’re not in love with me anymore?” Curran cringed. “It’s been, what, a year….”

“Curran! Please, be quiet and let me think,” Heinwald begged. Curran shut his mouth and Heinwald let out a large sigh. “Goodness gracious, Curran, you burst into my house and start yelling that you’re in love with me? Give me a moment!”

“Can I hug you while you have that moment?” Curran asked, a little pathetically. 

Heinwald had a weakness, unfortunately, and that weakness was approximately the size of Curran. So he stood up from his bed and found himself immediately enveloped in warm, sturdy arms.

“Ilia above, Hein, I missed you so fucking much.” He could feel Curran resting his cheek on the top of his head.

“I thought I told you to be quiet,” he mumbled in reply, without any heat to his words. He closed his eyes, resting his head against Curran’s chest, and allowed himself to relax into that solid embrace.

_ He loves me. _

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was too cowardly to confront the loss of you.”

“And instead you made me watch as you ran away from me like you had an army of fiends at your heel.” Curran sighed heavily. “I’ve been on a wild ride of emotion ever since. But right now I’m just so glad I found you.”

A year. Curran dedicated nearly a full year to look for him. He tightened his arms around his waist. “I’m happy that you decided to look for me.”

“Of course I would’ve. You’re my best friend, and I love you.” They are both quiet for a while. Finally, Curran asked, “...Are you gonna let me hear it? You haven’t said it back yet.”

Heinwald reviewed the entire sequence of recent events in his head. “...Ah. So I haven’t.” No more hesitation. “I love you too.”

They stood there like that for a long time.

*** 

Across the town, Lacy took a deep, shuddering breath.  _ If Heinwald can ask you to leave him alone in a room with his ex-partner, you can totally do this, _ she told herself. She knocked on the door.

The door opened a crack, then widened, and her Juney poked her head out. “Lacy! What are you doing out here so late at night?”

No going back now. But first things first.. “Juney, I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you for so long.” She took another breath and said, “But I need to tell you something.”

“Anything. I’m always here for you.” And she said it with such confidence, with such surety, that she knew it had to be true.

“Juney, I…” she was starting to cry. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I really, really like you.”

That wasn’t what she was planning on saying. And she wasn’t sure if it would manage to get her point across. But just as she was beginning to dread having to explain her feelings, she blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes and saw the expression on Juney’s face. She understood.

And then Juney pulled her into a tight hug, and Lacy knew things would be all right.


	3. Chapter 3

Lacy set her hand on the doorknob. Before she entered like she normally did, she hesitated for a split second and decided to knock.

Given the rustling sounds from inside the cottage, that was probably a wise move.

Heinwald opened the door. His disheveled look starkly reminded her of the day she discovered Curran’s name. But given the presence of a shirtless inquisitor sitting on the bed in the process of pulling on his pants underneath the bedsheet and the numerous red marks marring his exposed skin, she had a feeling that he had a lot better time last night than he did that morning.

“How did it go?” he asked eagerly. He was already radiating smugness, and she wondered what was it about her demeanor that gave away the success of her confession. She resolved to ask him sometime.

“I would ask you the same question, but I don’t think I need to,” she remarked, raising a brow at Curran. He grinned and waved at her, but soon his expression turned serious and he mouthed,  _ thank you. _

“Indeed. If you had, I would have asked you to sit for an eye examination. Do you want to come in for breakfast?”

Was it weird eating breakfast with her only friend besides her girlfriend  _ (her girlfriend!) _ and his...partner? after what was pretty clearly a good night for the two of them? She had no idea.

Then Curran said, “I’ll make breakfast, so you don’t have to eat this guy’s cooking,” and that won her over.

“Sure. I want to make sure that Heinwald was telling the truth about you taking good care of him.” She shot him a stink eye, resolving to judge his cooking ability with her (admittedly very) limited palate. Another question: was it weird that she was the one who felt protective over Heinwald when Curran knew him for several years longer than she did? The answer to this question was probably not. She was the one who decided to tell Curran that he was in town, after all. That choice made their reunion at least partially her responsibility.

“I rarely speak falsehoods,” Heinwald huffed as Curran got up from the bed--with pants on--and headed for the stove.

It was a good pathway into the second reason why she was here this morning. She wanted to make sure he was alive, but besides that, she had a question for him. “So you were serious about offering to support me if I wanted to leave?” She paused. “Because Juney said yes when I asked her to move away with me.”

“Then choose your place, and we will make sure to escort you there safely, with plenty of funds to start your new lives.” Curran turned around from the frying pan to look at Heinwald. He raised a brow back and added, “It is, after all, the least I could do after you’ve helped me so.”

Lacy’s cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling so widely. “Thank you.”

This time, she gave him the hug. And it was just as awkward as she expected it to be.


End file.
